Bloodstains
by dragonflybeach
Summary: Pre-Series, Outsider POV. Hazel teaches her new tenant's son a few tricks for doing laundry.


At first Hazel thought they were playing in the shed. She crossed the yard determined to yank the door open and give them a good talking to. She had told Mr. Winchester and his boys when they moved in last week to the mother in law suite (rot in pieces, you old battleaxe) that they were welcome to use the washer and dryer in the shed, but warned that little boys should not be playing in there, what with the tools and fertilizer and so forth stored in there.

Just as she reached the door, she spotted the little one on his knees sitting the tree next to the fence with a book in his lap.

She also realized the sounds weren't laughter like she had originally thought.

She slowly opened the door to find the older one kneeling on the floor, bawling his eyes out, something clutched to his chest.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" She bent down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

The poor child acted like he'd been hit. He rared back, scrubbing the back of his hand across his face, and sucked in a shaky gasp.

"N-n-nothing." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'll get out of your way."

"I didn't come to wash clothes right now." She said. "I heard something and I came to see what was going on."

"I w-w-was jus-just washing clothes but I'm done now." He tried to push himself to his feet, still shuddering and hitching from his crying fit.

His left hand was still clutched against his chest, and Hazel could just make out what looked like gray fabric in his grasp.

"Whacha got there?" she asked, nodding toward whatever he held. "Do you need help with something?"

"Are you a mom?" he asked softly.

"Sweetie, I've got three kids, now all grown, eight grandkids, one great grandson and another great grandbaby on the way." She smiled at him gently. "Why do you ask?"

He looked at her for a long moment, his bottom lip quivering. "M-m-my dad came home last night and he was bleeding and I tried to help him and it got on my shirt and I washed it but it didn't come out. My mom would know how to get it out. I got blood on my good shirt one time when my nose was bleeding and she got it all clean."

Hazel realized for the first time that the boy was younger than the eleven or so years old she had presumed him to be. He was apparently big for his age, and obviously mature for his age, the way she had seen him watching that younger boy.

She recognized that kind of maturity, and guessed at the reason behind it.

"Honey, let me tell you about me." She said, lowering herself to sit all the way on the concrete floor of the shed, not thinking about how she was going to get up after. "When I was twelve, my daddy got killed working up at the mill. I had four little brothers and sisters. I had to take care of them a lot, because my mama had to go to work after that. I was more like their mama than their sister, so I guess I've been a mama since I was twelve. How old were you when your mama died, hon?"

"Four," he mumbled, just louder than a whisper. "Same age Sam is now."

_Lord have mercy_, she thought to herself, _he's just a baby_.

"Well my three little brothers were always getting hurt and a lot of time there was blood." She told him. "If you put peroxide on the blood stain, it will come right out as long as you haven't put it in the dryer. You didn't put it in the dryer, did you?"

He shook his head no before he finally opened his hand and held it out to her.

She took the shirt and shook it out, looking at the dark smear that covered from one shoulder down to and across the Batman logo on the chest.

"Can you run in my house, and look under the sink in the bathroom, and there's a brown bottle that says hydrogen peroxide. Can you go get it?" She asked, and he nodded. "I think if we soak this good with peroxide, we can get it clean."

He was out the shed door before she could blink, and back by the time she had managed to stand and brush off her backside.

She spread the shirt on the lid of the washer, and poured peroxide slowly over the stain. She looked over at the boy by her elbow, watching his eyes widen as the white bubbles appeared over the dark spot.

"Now," she said, putting lid back on the bottle. "We wash this in cold water, not hot because hot will set the stain, and hopefully it will all come out. If it doesn't, we can pour some lemon juice on it and put it out in the sun." She opened the washer, put the clothes still in there in the dryer, and started the cycle. "We'll just put a little bit of soap. Just so you know, because I know little boys can be sweaty and have stinky feet, if you wash clothes and they still smell, you can put a cup of ammonia in the wash and run them through again, and it will take all the smell out."

The shed door pushed open wider and the little one stood there, book still in his hand. "Whacha doin'?"

"Washin' clothes." The older said. "Go back to reading, Sammy. I'll be there in a minute."

The little one's face scrunched up. "Why are you crying, Dean?"

"I'm not crying!" Dean huffed. "Only babies cry."

"I'm not a baby!" the little one argued. "I'm a big boy!"

"I know Sammy." the older boy's shoulders slumped. "Mrs. ... " he frowned for a second. "Mrs. Hudson is just helping me get this shirt clean and I'll be right back, okay?"

"I'll wait for you." the little one frowned, staying by the door. "What's wrong with your shirt?"

"It got blood on it when I was helping Dad and Mrs. Hudson is helping me get it clean." Dean explained patiently.

"Daddy falls down a lot." the small face scrunched up again. "'Specially at night. He should turn the light on so he doesn't fall over things."

Hazel sighed to herself. She recognized what that meant too. Her mother had tried to hide from in her grief in a bottle as well.

"Well there's nothing else to do now." She said as she dropped the shirt into the washer. "We just let the washer run, and that's gonna take over half an hour. You two run along, and we'll check on the shirt after while."

Dean took his little brother by the hand, and they walked out of the shed.

She looked over as she walked back to the house to find the boys running around the tree, the little one giggling as Dean pretended to growl and chase him.

All the blood came out of the Batman shirt, to Dean's relief.

She told her daughter about the boys when Cindy came to visit next and the boys were on the patio eating paper cup popsicles Hazel had made for them.

Cindy asked if they should call Child Protective Services or someone.

Hazel said no, the boys would be fine, Dean was very responsible for his young age and he sure loved his little brother.

She never thought about it again until years later when she saw the new coverage of the hostage situation at that bank in Milwaukee.


End file.
